Game of Hearts
by DanyElliott
Summary: Petyr Baelish wants to marry Sansa Stark to Ramsay Bolton, but what happens when she refuses? What happens when they go back to the Vale and Sansa seeks for answers she is not ready yet to hear?


**First part is pretty much the conversation from the show, though I did make some changes there as well. You'll recognize right away that this story starts the moment Petyr Baelish tries to convince Sansa in marrying Ramsay Bolton. Though this time, it won't really go as he wished.**

 **It's a Petyr/Sansa pairing, and I'll leave the rating M for later chapters, cursing, etc.**

"Where are you taking me?" Sansa asked, as confusion took over her. The Boltons had Winterfell. And the Boltons didn't have any daughters to marry, so what was Petyr's real intention?

"Home." He said, as if it was obvious. He looked at her, waiting for her to realize what was happening. And then he saw a pinch of recognition on her face.  
"This marriage proposal… It wasn't for you." It was not a question, it was a statement, and she could feel her chest becoming heavier and heavier on her. This wasn't what she was expecting, not at all. Looking at the dark castle, all she could feel was anger, disgust, wish for revenge. There, in that castle, lived the people who took away from her what she held dearest - her family.

"No." He said calmly, trying to read her face and while he could understand what he found on it, he still hoped that she would understand the position they were both in and how this could help them.

"Roose Bolton killed my brother! He betrayed my family!" She shouted at him, obviously annoyed at his lack of thought and compassion. "He serves the Lannisters!"

"For now." He confirmed, though it was obvious that their loyalty went wherever they had more benefit.

"I won't go." She took a couple of steps back, trying to distance herself from the people her family once trusted, from the people who left her motherless, who killed her curly haired, dearest brother. She could barely stand to just look at the castle, while she could not see any of the people there responsible for what her family went through.

"Winterfell is your home, Sansa." Petyr took her by her shoulders, running his hands up and down her shoulders in a reassuring manner. This was important, she had to know that.

"Not anymore." Her eyes filled with tears, and even though she was so angry with him for bringing her here, she couldn't find it in herself to push him away and cause the lack of the contact.

"Always." He cut her before she could keep speaking, locking his eyes on hers,squeezing her shoulders lightly and gaining her full attention. "You're a Stark. Dying your hair doesn't change that. You're Sansa Stark, eldest surviving child of Ned and Catelyn Stark. Your place is in the North."

"I can't go there! They are traitors, they murdered my family!" She shouted, and tears spilled unwillingly from her eyes, as she shook in his hands. Before she even knew it, she was pulled in an embrace, feeling Petyr's warm breath ghosting over her ear.  
"I will not force you to do anything, Sansa. Don't you know by now how much I care for you?" He could feel her relax slightly in his arms, so he pulled back a bit, slipping his hands on either side of her face, their noses almost bumping into each other. "Say a word and we'll turn the horses back. But listen to me, Sansa. You've been running your whole life. Horrible things happened to your family and you weeped. Stop being a by-stander, do you hear me? Stop running." No words came from her in response. His eyes fell on her lips, feeling slightly distracted by her beauty, but darted back to her slightly red eyes. "There is no justice in the world. Not unless we make it. You loved your family. Avenge them." All he witnessed was more tears slipping down her pale, cold cheeks, and he couldn't help pressing a comforting kiss on her forehead.

"I can't, Petyr." She knew she gained his attention the moment she called him by his first name. Her hands instinctively grabbed his by wrists, and she held at that moment as if they were the only thing that could save her. And truly, they were. "I'm not ready. This is the first time that I've felt safe since the moment I left Winterfell, and I'm not ready to be afraid again." She pleaded, both with her eyes and words, and he could tell by the strength of her grip that that was the final truth.

"Then we go back." Petyr said, shifting closer to her and kissing her eyebrow, leaving a warm feeling there she knew will not fade for a very long time.

"Why did you kiss me?" The question came out of nowhere, startling Petyr slightly, as he did not hear, or expect her, to come to his chambers. He was, as always, writing something. Well, he was either writing or reading, but it all came down to the strategy in the end, to how he will use the information he gained.

"Sansa." He greeted. What he was supposed to answer to her question, he did not know himself.

"Lord Baelish." She greeted back, closing the door behind her and walking up to his table. "Why did you kiss me? In the garden, when aunt Lysa saw us. Why did you kiss me?" She needed to know. She kept convincing herself that she had to know because, in the end, it was something that cost her aunt her head. Still, she couldn't fight the small voice in the back of her head that kept whispering how she wanted to feel it again, no matter the consequences.

Setting the quill next to the paper on the table, Petyr raised from his chair and walked around the table, until he was standing in front of Sansa. "What do you think?"

She didn't expect him to answer to her question with a question of his own, but she should have known better than to get a straight out answer from Littlefinger. Like time with him hadn't taught her a thing. "I asked you why. What I think doesn't matter one bit. But I need to know why my aunt died."

"Your aunt died because she wanted to hurt you and I couldn't let that happen." He replied, matter-of-factly, leaning back on the table.

Could he not try to manipulate her for one single second? "Will you just answer my question?" She asked impatiently, fighting the urge to hit him. It was not ladylike, and it was not something she should do to the Lord of Vale. Still, she hated him at times like this, when he acted as if she was just anyone else from his life with who he could avoid answers and manipulate into forgetting what they first came for.

"Tell me, Sansa, why does a man kiss a woman?" He asked calmly, a corner of his lip raising slightly into an amused smirk. That was a game he could play, and the one he wanted to as well.  
"Because they are man and wife." Sansa replied without a second of thought, blushing a bit at the subject. Did she really come into Petyr Baelish's chambers to talk about why he kissed her without a second thought? Looks like it.

"No. Why does a man kiss a woman?" He asked, again, amused with the embarrassing blush that crept from Sansa's neck to her cheeks in just a couple of seconds. He could see her chest rising slightly faster than just a moment before, and he spent more than enough time with women to recognize what she felt. She was not the same as them, though. She was innocent, pure.

"Because he wants to. Because he is… Attracted to her." Words came out silently, barely above a whisper.

"Why did I kiss you, Sansa?" He pushed himself off the table in one swift move, taking a step to his confused, little girl, and staring right into her eyes. His eyes darted between her eyes and her lips quickly, settling on the pink lips once he realized he could not fight the urge to kiss her.

Her breath quickened and her eyes fluttered closed as he inched forward and pressed his lips against hers. It was slow and as if the time slowed down, she could feel his stubble beard on her own, the warmth radiating from his lips, his hands creeping around her waist, slowly pulling her closer to him. But the sensation disappeared as soon as it got there, as she felt, once again, an unsatisfying lack of contact both on her lips and on her waist, as he ghosted away from her. It was a response she wanted to get, but the one she was not sure if she was ready for.


End file.
